Weary
by Sgt. Rill
Summary: A Teacher and a Student. A Genius and a Visionary. A Father and Son. A divergence of paths. One-Shot


It was quiet in Master Willem's room, as he liked it. He wished that it could have been more organised, but it sufficed. After a bit, one could learn to ignore the books, papers and all other sorts of documents aimlessly strewn about the room. The current conditions were of no consequence, for much work was still left undone. He knew he didn't have much time left.

The wheelchair groaned in protest as Willem wheeled it towards one of his newer diagrams. He hunched over the papers and began writing, almost feverishly on the previously unmarked parchment. The sound of scribbling combined with the sound of his mutterings. "Did I teach you nothing Laurence?" Echoed quietly in the empty room.

The quiet was broken by the sound of old hinges screeching open. Light poured into the darkened room, illuminating the disarray the place had fallen into. Willem refused to turn to face him. The sound of footsteps began, soft and deliberate towards him. If he had a suspicion of who this was before, this solidified it. The footsteps stopped.

"Master Willem, I've come to bid you farewell." Willem was surprised. The normally soft-spoken voice now sounded almost brittle, like it would shatter any second.

"Oh, I know, I know." Willem couldn't stop the bitterness from bleeding into his voice, "You think now to betray me"

A long sigh escaped the lips of the visitor. The tension in the room seemed to rise. "No, but you will never listen."

More footsteps. He stood next to Willem's chair, lost in silence. "I tell you, I will not forget our adage."

The adage. Willem's mouth curled into a rueful smile. The words brought back a tidal wave of old memories. His lips moved to recite his oldest saying.

"...We are born of the blood." _A bright boy barely out of primary school eagerly looked up at him, eating up every word he said. The spark in his eyes was utterly blinding._

"Made men by the blood." _A young man in the front of the class scribbled frantically in his notes, trying to catch every word from Willem's mouth. His classmates stifled laughter at his one minded focus to the lesson, but Willem had the biggest smile on his face as he spoke. He couldn't be more proud._

"Undone by the blood." _A laboratory. His student explained the workings of the particular experiment to Willem. Willem was doubtful, stating the worrying consequences of working with blood, but his student waved it off. He stated that he had taken every precaution, but Willem knew the true hollowness of the words. There were no safe precautions with blood._

"Our eyes are yet to open..." _Arguing. His student wanted to conduct further research into The Old Blood. Preposterous. Ruinous. Willem told him so. His student did not listen. He claimed it was the next step towards enlightenment, "true ascension". Willem told him to cease this reckless foolishness at once. His student exploded, called him a scared old man. Stormed away._

"Fear the old blood." This time, both their voices rang together as one. Willem looked up toward the voice, the face of an old friend awaited him. His hand was resting on Willem's shoulder, and a grimace coupled with eyes brimming with tears is what was painted across his visage. Then he turned away, shutting his eyes and wiping a hand across his face.

They stood like that for some time, neither wanting to break the silence. All was still. There was no fluttering of pages, or the scratches of pencil on paper. Not even the old wheelchair squeaked. It seems as though time itself was eagerly awaiting what would come next.

"I must take my leave."

The former students brisk strides echoed loudly throughout the room, and it almost covered the sound of his shudders. To his credit, not a single sob escaped him as he strode away from the man that gave him everything. Then, with the loud bang of the doors slamming shut, it was over. A profound stillness filled the room, settling over the furniture. This silence that once provided comfort now seemed to be an oppressive force, driving weight down upon Willem relentlessly. It was suffocating.

The strength bled from his shoulders, Willem collapsed in his chair. The old man took his head in his hands as the tears began to fall from his eyes, silent rivers being carved onto his cheeks. Shaking his head slightly, he let out a whispered plea.

"By the gods, fear it Laurence."

* * *

 **Authors Note:** There are no happy endings in Bloodborne (I took a few artistic liberties, so it's not 100% accurate to cannon, but whatever)


End file.
